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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24884116">Instincts of a New God</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/YogurtHoops/pseuds/YogurtHoops'>YogurtHoops</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII (Video Game 1997)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alien Gender/Sexuality, Canon-Typical Violence, F/F, Surgery, Unethical Experimentation, pour one out for ms strife having to deal with so much in these aus, scientists in the ff7 universe are shitty you know the drill, village drama</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 00:29:33</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>15,782</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24884116</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/YogurtHoops/pseuds/YogurtHoops</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Jenova wakes up in the Nibelheim reactor during the Wutai War with no memories of what or who she is.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Jenova/Cloud Strife's Mother</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>108</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Heads up: don't know how much of this i'm planning on writing, but I'm pretty sure the shipping is going to be very low-key if at all present. </p><p>Female/nonbinary characters over the age of 25??? In MY final fantasy fanfic??? It's more likely than you think.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em> You wake, and the agony that comes from being so small attacks you with all the fury of a thousand burning suns. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>-000-</p><p> </p><p>It takes Claudia a moment to register that the shuffling figure in the middle of the plaza is doing so <em> in the middle of a blizzard </em>. </p><p>She runs to the window, which is so covered in sleet that, well, it was a miracle that she caught sight of the poor fool in the first place. That storm had been brewing on the horizon for what felt like days before it suddenly dumped a disproportionate amount of snow on Nibelheim. The figure is blurry and vague, appearing hunchback under what appears to be a large swath of cloth – they’re struggling, but moving at a snail’s pace across the plaza. </p><p>Cloud is already upstairs in bed, thank goodness – if she started looking out the window during a near-whiteout blizzard with him in the room, she would have had to <em> explain </em>. Explain why some idiot is out in the snow hobbling forward without the correct equipment. Yes, maybe they forgot to store up for the storm, but none of the shops would be open–</p><p>The figure collapses in the snow. </p><p>“Shit,” Claudia breathes, suddenly losing her train of thought. “Damn it.”</p><p>She sends a vague but monumentally great thanks to whatever deity made it so Cloud isn’t in the room, because otherwise she would have to explain why she was making for her boots and rushing out the door. </p><p> </p><p>-000-</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> When was the last time you felt this way? Eons? Decades? Days? Where your existence spanned perhaps a few meters rather than whole planets? </em>
</p><p>
  <em> You’re submerged in the disgusting lifeblood of this wretched world and– </em>
</p><p>
  <em> And.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> You can’t remember. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>-000-</p><p> </p><p>Claudia loses track of the figure as soon as it falls in the snow, but she’s been brought up in the Nibel woods her entire life. If anyone can find a downed storm victim, it’s her. She repeats this to herself as she stomps her way through the snow to the plaza, a mantra of hope that she’s not too late. </p><p>The snow just started to cover the cloth the figure bears, but she spots it out of the corner of her eye quickly. Mostly because of the mix of green and red staining the thing, but also because of the extreme stench of Mako wafting even through the wind. </p><p>Oh dear. Just what is she getting into here?</p><p> </p><p>-000-</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> You can’t remember a thing. All you know is the feeling of being small and afraid and you are drowning in something horrid.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> There is a pipe going through your abdomen.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>-000-</p><p> </p><p>The figure is light, and very conveniently bundled up in their makeshift coat, so Claudia swipes up the ends of the thing and hefts it onto her shoulder as carefully as one can be in the midst of a blizzard. She hauls her prize back to the house, fingers turning numb. She withholds a cheer when she makes it back inside, promising to celebrate when she confirms her guest isn’t dead or liable of needing a limb amputated. </p><p>The wind slams the door shut after her, and she winces. Cloud would have definitely heard that. Too late now, though. She lifts the figure in a bridal carry and brings them further inside to the still-burning hearth. Laying them out gently, she slowly unwraps them from the cloth.</p><p>When Claudia uncovers blue-tinted skin, she swears. </p><p>When she uncovers more and more blue skin, she hesitates. </p><p>Her house now reeks of mako and will for the next few months, she’s sure, and she’s slowly regretting bringing a potential monster in her home when she uncovers a very human-looking, feminine, youthful face, weighed down by a metal helmet of some sort. Sallow and thin, not anything close to healthy–</p><p>Her <em> brain </em>is exposed. The smell of mako gets to Claudia and she runs for the kitchen sink, coughing up vomit. </p><p> </p><p>-000-</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Your arms nearly creak in complaint as you shift them from behind your back, brushing by slimy tubes you force yourself to ignore as you take hold of the valve in your belly. If you don’t ignore them, if you don’t mentally distance yourself from this situation, you might never go through with it. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> There’s a small portion of your mind you’re relying on, one that operates on instinct alone, and it’s telling you that giant pipes aren’t supposed to go through your gut. And, well, who are you to disagree? </em>
</p><p>
  <em> You rip the valve out.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>-000-</p><p> </p><p>She finds the strength to make it back to what is now most likely becoming a poor woman’s autopsy. Cloud hasn’t come down to inspect what utter hell the first floor of the house has become, and for that she is grateful. It’s only a matter of time, however. Better get through this as quickly as possible. </p><p>Unwrapping the woman in her entirety shows that she’s nude. Nude in a snowstorm. Nude with only a blood-and-mako-stained cloth for protection. </p><p>Claudia can only slowly pick up the pieces as they’re given to her, but with the very obvious mako mutations and obvious surgical involvement, she’s leaning pretty hard on the Escaped Patient theory. Or, she would, if there was an active scientific facility anywhere nearby. </p><p>More blue, papery skin stained with mako and severely undernourished. An eyeball lodged in her breast. Two large appendages protruding from her back like a bastardization of wings. She manages to steel her stomach long enough to read the strange plaque on the headgear: <em> JENOVA. ShinRa Company Limited.  </em></p><p>Best not to even mention the gaping hole in her abdomen. Just seeing it has Claudia rushing back to the sink again.</p><p> </p><p>-000-</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> There is now a gaping hole in your abdomen. You didn’t think this through.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> You don’t feel in danger, really. Even as strange green liquid gushes out both the valve and the wound. You find another tube entering your body, this time on your hip. You rip that one out as well. And the next one on the small of your back. And the next one on your side. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> You continue tearing out the foul things until you feel the pressure to breathe. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>-000-</p><p> </p><p>She shouldn’t keep this thing in her house. As a rule, anything associated with ShinRa is bound to be bad luck, and this woman? Concerning to the highest degree. She should dump it out back, wait for the storm to pass, haul it to the nearest dragon cave, and let nature take its course. </p><p>It’s just… very difficult to make an unconscious woman with her brain and internal organs exposed look very threatening.</p><p>Buckets, candles, and towels in hand, Claudia returns to the body with a half-baked plan. </p><p>She pats the woman – <em> Jenova? </em> – down, staining towel number one with mako beyond salvage. The second towel is dipped in a bucket of warm water, and wiped down the body from head to toe. She notices that the body’s hands are covered in blood, and quietly washes that away.</p><p>When she gets to the open wound in Jenova’s belly, Claudia takes a moment to use the second bucket in the same way she’s been using the kitchen sink, and dutifully continues on. </p><p>It takes all of three hours, since the body continues secreting mako out of the skin. Two more towels are lost. At the two-hour mark, Claudia notices in the dim candlelight that the chest is rising and falling. Jenova is <em> breathing </em>. </p><p>She allows herself to whoop in celebration for a moment, nearly forgetting that this thing could be dangerous. </p><p>She’ll cross that bridge when she gets to it. </p><p> </p><p>-000-</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> You reach out, touching the smooth surface of glass. You can barely see the outside – something is blocking your view. It takes three solid punches to the glass for it to shatter, and you fall forwards into glorious, breathable space.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> You faintly remember never needing to breathe. You decide your memory must be unreliable, because you gulp down the stale air religiously. Like a prayer.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>-000-</p><p> </p><p>Cloud comes down once the mako smell wafts up to his room. At that point, Claudia has set up Jenova more comfortably on the floor near the hearth, sacrificing a few old pelts and blankets on their last legs as a mattress for the mako-saturated woman. A blanket covers the worst of the damage, but she kept the brain in the air – she’s not a doctor, but touching a brain with old woolen blankets seems like a not great plan. </p><p>She barely remembers to tell him to stay away from the body, mind muddled from lack of sleep. He simply nods, sends a strange look to the figure on the floor, and flees back upstairs. </p><p>She really hopes her son is doing alright with the smell. He crawled out of the mako incident spooked and a bit… different. Hopefully this doesn’t bring back bad memories. </p><p> </p><p>-000-</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> The rest of your journey to the outside is a blur. You register blinking red lights distantly, pulling out more wires holding you back and seeing figures moving towards you that retreat just as quickly. Your legs grow warm and wet from the liquid dripping from the hole in your belly, but it slowly numbs in the sudden cold outside the facility.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> You wonder if the green oozing from your wound is important.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Your legs shake under the stress of walking after an undefined period of stasis. Just how long were you asleep in that liquid for? How did you even get there? It is so cold…  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>-000-</p><p> </p><p>It takes a few more days for the snow to finally slow down. By then, the smell of mako stagnates throughout the whole house. Jenova is unmoving except for the slight up and down of her chest as she breathes.</p><p>Cloud is the one to point out that the wound in her gut is getting smaller, and on closer inspection, they marvel at how the brain is slowly being covered up by regrowing bone and tissue. </p><p> </p><p>-000-</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> You phase in and out of consciousness. At some point, you somehow obtained a large cloth, most likely from the large building you are now stumbling away from. It’s stained with red, and slightly wet. You inwardly shrug, pulling it tighter around your body as it chills in the wind.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> You don’t know your name, you think. You’re walking but you don’t know where to.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> You don’t know who or what you are.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>You just feel. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> So. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>So. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Small.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>-000-</p><p> </p><p>It takes two weeks for the wounds to completely close. Two weeks, and Jenova sucks in a sudden breath on the floor of the Strife residence, scaring Claudia half to death, to whisper. </p><p>
  <em>“Help me.”</em>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Not gonna lie - A majority of this fic was inspired by just looking at Jenova's crisis core render. Also by wondering what Hojo would even do if she just. Walked out. Like, bye bitch. Time to seduce this random mom who helped me in my time of need.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Claudia practically vaults over the couch to get to the possibly-not-comatose woman laying in her home. </p><p><em> “Help me,” </em> Jenova chokes out as Claudia falls to her knees beside her. <em> “Help me. Help me.” </em> </p><p>“I got you,” Claudia assures her, freaking out slightly but not enough to make her freeze up. “Though I think you’ve already helped yourself, dear.” After all, the two major wounds she couldn’t help with before closed up on their own. </p><p>Claudia’s panic spikes. She’s not sure if she can medically help any more than she already has, beyond wiping up the mako and such. </p><p><em> “Small.” </em> Jenova manages, giving her pause. <em> “Too. Small.” </em></p><p>“What is?” Claudia asks, trying to make her voice as soothing as possible while inwardly losing her mind. “What is too small?”</p><p>A single red eye with black sclera – now <em> that’s </em> not a thing you see everyday in Nibelheim, but she’ll have to admire it later, hopefully when the owner is actually coherent – stares blankly at the ceiling, twitching every so often. <em> “H...Help…” </em></p><p>And then the eye closes, and her body goes lax. Claudia takes a few panicked moments to find her pulse and check her breathing before collapsing herself, winded by just a few seconds of excitement. Gods, what she would do for a few days without worrying.</p><p> </p><p>-000-</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> You fade in and out.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Every so often, you hear a voice.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>-000-</p><p> </p><p>There’s not much of a library in Nibelheim. Actually, calling it a library would be an insult to libraries everywhere, or so Claudia’s been told. The ‘library’ is a little desk shelf near the entrance of the Inn, holding a handful of novels or children’s books for the lucky literate who pass through. Which means no medical textbooks. Not that she could ever hope to decipher them. She could visit the local medic for advice, but…</p><p>She can imagine the conversation vividly. <em> Hello doctor. I was wondering what the procedure is for having your guts spilling out paired with what is most likely mako poisoning. Oh! Don’t forget the giant headdress screwed to the clearly-mutated patient’s head announcing the ownership of ShinRa. You know, the company everyone is somewhat wary of.  </em></p><p>And wasn’t that a trip, realizing the knobs and poles attached to Jenova’s headgear actually went <em> straight through </em> to the other side. That’s partially why she is seeking out any medical information – the metal in her skull might be the reason she is struggling to wake up. </p><p>And she does wake up. Every couple of hours, she will start whispering to herself. The usual ‘help me’s and ‘too small’s on top of a few… new ones. </p><p><em> “They can’t kill me,” </em> she nearly spits.</p><p><em> “I cannot remember,” </em>is whispered, almost too quiet to pick up. </p><p>
  <em> “Son.” </em>
</p><p>That one freaks Claudia out a little, only to spark a sudden feeling of murderous intent towards ShinRa. It sounded like a breath, so natural. Was this woman a mother?</p><p>Well, regardless if it’s preventing Jenova from waking completely, Claudia can only imagine the discomfort at having metal poles straight through someone’s head. Not to mention how heavy it must be. After closer inspection of the almost-helmet, she notices a thick, rubber cord coming out of the side. One that is interestingly ripped and frayed at the end, like it had been torn apart. </p><p>Yeah, it might be best for everyone if the damn thing is taken off. She’s just not sure how much she can rely on Jenova’s strange healing factor to keep her intact. Was it a one-off ability? The removal might very well kill her. </p><p><em> “Son,” </em> Jenova says in the midst of unintelligible garbling, after another week of no progress. </p><p>Claudia knows what to do – she’s just. Procrastinating. She takes a day to inspect the headgear a bit more, trying to understand with what little medical and engineering knowledge she has what she’s dealing with. It’s… metal, the plaque bit seeming purely decorative. It doesn’t seem heavy enough to be solid metal all the way through. </p><p>The frayed rubber cord bothers her, because it implies electronics. The headgear is a device, most likely. For what, Claudia is not sure. </p><p>“It can’t be permanent, right?” Cloud asks after she’s been poking and prodding it for an hour. “It’s a science thing. They’d probably have a way to take it apart.”</p><p>“Not without tools we don’t have,” Claudia sighs, sitting back on her thighs. “And it’s <em> ShinRa </em>. They probably have a super secret tool that only works on this and nothing else.”</p><p>Cloud squints at it. “Those bolt things right there. That’s what you want to remove, right?” He points to the metal rods. “If they go all the way through, couldn’t you just, I dunno, slide them out?”</p><p>Claudia blinks, taking a closer look. “Huh.”</p><p>“You’ll probably need to borrow someone’s bolt cutters,” he continues, oblivious to his mother’s surprise. “I can go over and ask Mr. Heidgel. I saw him working on the truck yesterday, and he had those big ones that are used for locks and stuff leaning on the wall. Then you’ll need to smooth the end down so it doesn’t catch on anything going through.” He pauses. “We’ll need a cover story when we borrow the tools.” </p><p>She shakes her head, snapping out of thinking how she missed something so simple. Gods, she was just going to take a meat cleaver and hack at the woman’s skull. “Our house has been smelling like a mako spring for the past few weeks. Maybe we can use that?”</p><p>Cloud nods with all of the seriousness in his short little preteen body. Her son’s an old soul. “Got it.”</p><p> </p><p>-000-</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> You hear many voices, actually, but this one stands out among the rest. Because it isn’t yours.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> It doesn’t belong to you, and that makes it all the more precious.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>-000-</p><p> </p><p>She sends Cloud upstairs the day she goes through with pulling out the rods, constantly declining the help he offers. If she can have him avoid an overabundance of gore before he’s a teenager, she’ll count that as a success. </p><p>“If I need help, I’ll call you down,” she says for the fourth time, waving him up to his room. “You might get dizzy from the mako fumes, or something.”</p><p>“That’s a weak excuse and you know it!” He calls behind him as he trudges up. But he eventually closes his door, and Claudia gets ready. </p><p>She had washed the borrowed metal cutters multiple times the day before, wiping off the grime she was <em> not </em>going to let anywhere near Jenova’s exposed brain. She pulls out some old but unused rubber cleaning gloves from a closet, cleaning those as well. She considers tying a bandana around her face, like the masks the medic wears for the particularly bad injuries that come by (she’s reminded of Tifa’s fall, a few years ago), but decides against it. Instead, she ties it over her hair, keeping it secure and out of her eyes. The handheld grinder Cloud managed to borrow from some other villager, he didn’t specify who, is cleaned as well. </p><p>And now, the only thing that’s stopping her is herself.</p><p>“The woman is half dead already,” she grumbles to herself, readying the clippers. “Just get the damn thing over with.”</p><p>The clippers snap through the solid poles easily, warping the ends of the metal into pointy fans, but that’s what the grinder is for. She slowly but surely wears down the points enough to where she’s positive they won’t scrape the edges of Jenova’s head as they pass through. She washes the metal shavings off the ends, trying to keep the head as steady as she can possibly keep it. </p><p>It’s… slow. And stressful. She started early in the morning, knowing she would need every minute of light in the day. </p><p>After the first few hours, Claudia reaches her first obstacle. The rods are lodged in the metal headgear, which explains why they weren’t slipping and sliding around before now. She tries twisting them, but they’re firmly stuck in place. </p><p>“Okay, Jenova,” she says, grabbing the clippers again. “This might get rough.”</p><p>She ends up keeping one foot on the plaque section of the helmet to keep it steady while she uses the clippers as a wrench, twisting it and not pressing hard enough so the blades go all the way through. Eventually – and Claudia <em> does </em> let out a whoop in celebration – the first rod twists. </p><p>Fuck ShinRa and it’s special one-in-existance science tools. All she needs are giant bolt cutters and a plan. Hell yes. She dismounts the helmet and goes on to probably the most nerve-wracking step of the surgery. </p><p>Once twisted by the cutters, the rods are movable when used with enough force. It takes a few gentle tugs to realize that ‘gentle’ isn’t going to work, so she takes the end of one of the bolts, and <em> pulls </em>. </p><p>It slides out, followed by a rush of green ooze that Claudia has started to recognize as Jenova’s blood. </p><p>“Shit!” She grabs one of the towels she had on standby. “Gods, Jenova. Please don’t leak too much. You need this to live.” It takes a few moments for the trickling to slow to a stop, but once it does she moves on to the next one, yanking it out in the same way. The first rod must have let loose most of the blood, since the second just comes out dry. </p><p>It takes Claudia a moment to realize that she completed the worst part. </p><p><em>“Shit,” </em> she says with feeling, slumping down. She casts a careful eye over Jenova’s face, doing a double-take at her chest which is rising and falling. The woman is still breathing. </p><p><em>What </em> are <em> you? </em> She thinks vaguely, before shaking her head. The surgery isn’t done yet. The helmet itself should come right off, without the rods in place.</p><p>Except, it doesn’t. She pulls gently at first, trying to wiggle off the headgear, but all that succeeds in doing is dislodging some more blood out of the holes in Jenova’s head. She stops doing that immediately. </p><p>Maybe… she should wait for the holes to heal? She can probably risk being more rough if there aren’t other wounds she has to worry about. The previous gap in the woman’s skull took two weeks to close completely, and these are significantly smaller, although… </p><p>She’s exhausted, she decides, looking around at the carnage on the floor. A few green-stained towels, mostly untouched bolt cutters and grinder, metal shavings, metal rods, and a woman who is definitely breathing but you can see the other side of her skull through the holes in her head.</p><p>It’s as successful as Claudia can probably ask for, at this point. She gathers up everything, cleaning the tools and tossing the metal in the trash, before cleaning herself up and promptly passing out on her bed. </p><p> </p><p>-000-</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> The voice is soothing, with an undercurrent of emotion you can barely sense over the haze on your mind. Immediate and present. Grounding.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>There should be humor in the concept, you think, but whatever context is lost in the recesses of your failing memory. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Your broken memory.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>It’s fractured, you know. Ideas and thoughts that are not your own fluttering through and muddling your awareness more than it already is. You get the sense of being invincible one moment, only to die in the next. You feel wounds rip open and others sewing them shut. The thrill of the hunt fills your breath until it is cut short by the end of a blade. Millions and millions of children, specimens, dead. Precious cells wasted–</em>
</p><p>
  <em> You don’t remember.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> You are sick and tired of not remembering.  </em>
</p><p><em> You open your eye and </em> <b> <em>see–</em> </b></p><p> </p><p>-000-</p><p> </p><p>Jenova rips off the rest of the headgear in the middle of the night. Claudia doesn’t notice until the following morning when she steps in a puddle of green ooze and silver hair. </p><p><em> Ah, </em> she thinks distantly, slowly waking up. <em> That’s Jenova’s blood, isn’t it? </em></p><p>She barely makes it to the kitchen sink that time, but after she’s done, she cleans up. Both the blood and the vomit. Dutiful and almost relieved that she didn’t have to do it herself. Well, it probably would have been a bit <em> neater </em> if Claudia scraped together the courage to just pull it off herself, but too little too late, she supposes. </p><p>Claudia pulls herself together enough to cover the damage in Jenova’s head with another towel before Cloud comes down. Jenova knew what she was doing, she’s sure. She’s not actually sure, really. It was definitely dumb luck that she did her business at night when Cloud wasn’t in the room. </p><p>She might be in shock, now that she thinks about it. She tells Cloud this, and he just nods, eyes wide and worried, but otherwise quiet. He’s gotten so quiet. He used to be so spitfire, so ready to prove himself. </p><p>Washing the headgear of blood and hair, she laments. Noting how the towel over Jenova’s head contours and folds. Imagining who exactly Jenova will be, at the end of all this. </p><p>
  <em>JENOVA. ShinRa Company Limited.</em>
</p><p>Hopefully, she <em> is </em> somebody at the end of all this.</p><p> </p><p>-000-</p><p> </p><p>(Cloud doesn’t know what his mom is doing, bringing a monster inside during a storm and taking care of it like it’s a person. He guesses that he’d be the first to admit that there really isn’t much to do in Nibelheim, but this… </p><p>It makes the house reek in that familiar, salty-sweet tang that lines the outskirts of the city, ever since the first mako spring came up and brought the others with it. It looks dead, but it heals extremely fast – similar to how the newspapers are talking about the abilities of the SOLDIERs fighting in Wutai. It <em> looks </em> like a girl, and his mom calls it <em> she </em> and <em> her </em> , but, almost instinctively, he knows that’s not right. Tifa’s a girl. His mom is a girl. That thing, <em> Jenova </em>, is not. </p><p>He’s not sure why he’s so sure about that. After all, what does he know about girls? He can barely talk to <em> anybody </em> when people avoid him like the plague. But he’s sure in the same way he feels a sense of calmness sinking into his bones at the sight of his mother’s necklace materia. She’s been taking it out from under her collar more often. He doesn’t think she notices.</p><p>He inhales when he’s in his room, almost tasting the mako smell in the air. Just like he did a few years ago. </p><p>But this is the first time he’s seen his mom so determined, so happy. He hears the little laugh in her voice when the thing twitches a finger, the joy as she calls him over to look at how she braided its hair, only to undo it and start over. When it rips off the helmet, her panic-induced cleaning holds a spark of hope. It’s <em> weird </em> , yeah, but she looks so… <em> alive </em>. </p><p><em> “She says ‘son’ with such… emotion,” </em> she says, once. Cloud just nods along as she hugs him close, enduring the embarrassment and admitting to himself just the smallest amount that it doesn’t feel that bad, really. <em> “I want to help her, somehow.” </em></p><p><em> “You’re already helping, ma,” </em> he says, almost like an afterthought. It must resonate with her though, somehow, because she just pulls him in tighter. </p><p>It almost makes the smell worth it.)</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thank you guys for the nice comments! This is the first time I've actually gotten past 2 chapters on a fic and my motivation is wild bc of them.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The ShinRa building is a monolith that is near symbolic in appearance. Industrial, matching the architecture of the buildings surrounding it – if not surpassing them in design and material. The floors available to the visiting public are picturesque, glossy tiles and floor to ceiling windows that are positioned in such a way that, if you squint, you can almost notice how the iron supports between the glass panes resemble prison bars to an extent. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Very symbolic</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Sephiroth internally mourns, only to instinctively frown. He’s being overdramatic, imagining windows and waxing poetic over needless allusive drivel. Maybe Genesis’s mannerisms are having a greater effect on him than he first realized. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And isn’t that slightly frustrating, knowing one can have a neigh invisible effect on him from across the map. Genesis is in Wutai now, while Sephiroth is on stand-by in Midgar. Logically, it makes sense for individuals to pick up on the habits of those whose company they indulge in, but one would assume the copied traits would be… useful. Not annoying. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Maybe now you two can bond over being unnecessarily theatrical,”</span>
  </em>
  <span> Angeal had said when Sephiroth had hinted at his frustration. The man had the audacity to look amused. Needless to say, Sephiroth hadn’t brought it up again, although the other had hinted at it in conversation many times after. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His thoughts on windows are still introspective, in his opinion, regardless of the dramatics involved. Besides, if the floors open to guests resemble prisons, he can only imagine what the windowless SOLDIER floor is symbolic of. The inability to escape? Enclosed spaces, choking out any life and limiting the ability to breathe? Drowning in an ocean of one’s own making… </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Maybe he should stop thinking about windows and focus on the mission board in front of him, but even that is interrupted by the sound of recognizable footsteps coming up beside him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“For being the most recognizable being in the building other than maybe the president himself, your ability to make yourself scarce is impressive.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sephiroth sighs, caught. “Angeal.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sephiroth,” the other First greets. “Do you swap notes with Genesis? I swear he has the ability to disappear from the map whenever he chooses, although he seems to favor the hours reserved for board meetings he’s called to…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Genesis’s disappearing act has nothing to do with the man’s stealth, and everything to do with the fact that he simply has to change his outfit and withhold the theatrics for a few moments. When people search for the redhead, they search for a man in red who sweeps through the hallways, not a SOLDIER stranger in civvies. Angeal hasn’t caught on yet, and Sephiroth knows Genesis would be unbearable if he did, so he keeps quiet on that front. “When would I have the time to compare vanishing strategies if I haven’t seen him since weeks before he deployed?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Touché.” They both know that the director is trying a new strategy on keeping the training room intact for as long as possible – keep Sephiroth and Genesis away from each other. Angeal nods towards the board. “Restless?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He huffs, eyes scrolling down the list. “There’s one in a less populated area of sector five.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Neither of them are allowed to leave Midgar while on stand-by. Angeal is too honorable to suggest sneaking out, and Sephiroth is too chained to duty to act on it. “Might as well.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Not even a blink for a mission that requires three Seconds at minimum.” Angeal sounds mildly bemused.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Only one of us would be necessary for it, then.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Confidence will be your downfall, one day,” he sighs dramatically. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Wings stripped away, the end is nigh.”</span>
  </em>
  <span> The LOVELESS quote is said in jest, but it doesn’t cover up the fact that they’re </span>
  <em>
    <span>both</span>
  </em>
  <span> spending too much time around Genesis, apparently.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t be obtuse,” he says, mind shifting over his materia as his hand passes his brace. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Thunder, Cura, Firaga</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Good enough. “They can’t kill me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You sound disappointed.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sephiroth allows himself to roll his eyes. “You struggle to find a challenge on any of these missions as well. Tell me you aren’t begging for something to get close to putting you in the ground.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>-000-</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Your name is Gunther Huges, Third Class SOLDIER and self-proclaimed master of solitaire. You moved to the big city a bit after your parents got new jobs in Junon. They were paid alright, but you knew they were starting to struggle with the workload as they got on in years. You wanted to alleviate that stress somehow, and you knew, even with your below-average test scores, that anyone who managed to get above infantry could earn a paycheck that was worth the whole life-risking business. Especially with the war going on. So, army it was. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>You’re still on the fence for whether or not it was the worst decision you’ve ever made in your life. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>On one hand, once you got into the SOLDIER ranks, the perks were impressive. You were able to send back money to your family, while keeping enough for yourself. The living quarters were nice, and the sense of community was… new. Nice and new. You’ve never had so many friends before. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>On the other hand, the Science Department. You can deal with risking your life, almost dying, and the ridiculous training regimens. It’s the Science Department that gets you.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>It just… freaks you out. Which is weird, because it didn’t really freak you out as a cadet. At least, not to the degree it does now. You asked one of the other Thirds about it once, a guy named Riley, and his face slightly paled as he regaled some of the popular gossip surrounding the place. Second and First SOLDIERs needing to be sedated before entering the floor for tests, otherwise they tear apart the labs. Monsters that are mutated beyond recognition.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“But there’s one thing someone told me that’s hard to shake off,” he said to you. “Apparently, there’s this… emotional aura.” Your face must betray your confusion, because he explains further. “One time, a Second went in for his shot, right? And they just happened to be in the middle of a testing session in the other room with a monster. Not sure what kind, but he could see it and everything they were doing to it. And once they fired up some extraction tool or whatever, he just… froze up.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>That sounds… normal. You would be freaked out if any of the scientists held a tool anywhere in your vicinity. You tell him your doubts, and he shakes his head. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“That’s not the only thing. The monster froze up at the exact same time, and its movements copied the other guy’s exactly.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>So people can feel the emotions of others, then. You’re still dubious.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“That’s the theory,” Riley says, nodding. “I don’t know about the scientists, though. They must be immune – I wouldn’t be able to cut a monster open on the field if I felt what it felt.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>The next time you’re due for a check up, you pay close attention. You’re led into the labs and feel that same unyielding fear. You notice some of the nurses give a wide berth as you walk by. Understandable, when paired with the rumors of certain SOLDIERs going berserk.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>The fear worsens when you arrive at your destination. You know the laboratory floors are multi-use, and very busy. You wonder if they’re testing on monsters right that second. It isn’t anything you’re unfamiliar with, though. The unsettling vibes of the place are the same as they were last time you were here, even as the doctor approaches with the mako injection. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>You resolve yourself to tell Riley as you feel the needle slip into your skin and–</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>And. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>You cannot remember. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <b>
    <em>You cannot–</em>
  </b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>-000-</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>You have no name. The concept of names escapes you. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>The man has given you a number. The concept of numbers also escapes you.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>You have no mind. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>All you know is growing. Spreading. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“It’s filled up the test chamber,” someone says, voice muffled by glass and your own growth. At least, that is what you would have heard if you could comprehend speech. “The tumors would probably continue to expand if given room.” </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“And yet its vitals are still going strong,” another voice sounds out, but this one is </span>
  </em>
  <b>
    <em>familiar</em>
  </b>
  <em>
    <span>. You recognize the cadence, like a far-off dream. “An interesting mutation, definitely related to the others, but ultimately useless. Discard it.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>You shift in your container, wanting more. Desiring space to fill. And yet you feel familiarity. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>You feel– </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>You don’t</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Remember.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>-000-</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Jenova doesn’t wake up the next day, reasonably, but she’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>still breathing</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Claudia was too muddled the previous day to notice. Still breathing. Gods. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>After wiping the woman down, she inspects the headgear a bit closer. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>JENOVA.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>ShinRa doesn’t do things by halves, apparently. The interior is covered in tiny spines, not unlike little insect legs. Jenova’s head reflects that, pockmarked by small wounds that match the pattern on the helmet. The holes in her skin are nearly closed up, however – the super-healing is still a go, apparently. Claudia feels a weight get lifted off her shoulders at that realization. A quick glance at the twin holes on either side of her head suggest the same thing, tissue and a strange, meaty-looking substance nearly covering up the wounds completely. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They’re certainly healing faster than the previous injuries. Not that she’s complaining. Jenova’s full face without the helmet is… well, it doesn’t look </span>
  <em>
    <span>great</span>
  </em>
  <span> with all the holes and such, but once she’s all healed, Claudia has no doubt she will be an objectively pretty woman. Her hair has already started to regrow on the top of her head where her brain was originally exposed, all silvery and smooth. Paired with the blue skin, she almost looks like those illustrations of Shiva, if it weren’t for the single red eye. It is quite striking, though. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The way her stomach caves in and her body looks nearly emasculated, that will definitely have to change once she wakes up. Fully, this time. Hopefully. Claudia halfheartedly wonders about the eyeball in the woman’s chest with the offhanded bluntness of someone who has lost way too much sleep thinking about it. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Back to the helmet.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It looks… painful, really. Scientists really go out of their way to make every device as terrifying as possible – the reactor, knives and pliers and all sorts of tools they use. This thing almost looks like it’s from another world. She fiddles with one of the interior thorns, seeing it bend and twist. Now that it’s off Jenova, she can afford to be rough in cracking it open. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Not today, though. She’s still feeling the excitement from yesterday. Poking and prodding is the most she can bring herself to do. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>-000-</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>You faintly recall the concept of children. It is something you are familiar with, you think. Something that once was a part of your life at a monumental scale. You fail to remember the exact parameters of this familiarity, why it nags at your mind the way it does. You remember the feeling of unity, with your children. Claiming and considering with the tactician of a survivor. You made your children strong, and thus you were protected. A give and take. A balance. Other than that, it is all blank.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Just another thing you cannot remember, and yet it stays among your instincts as memories come and go. A rock in a constantly changing ocean, washing away your identity with every push and pull of the waves except for that one solid detail. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>The ocean will dry up soon, you feel. The tides will recede and there will only be sand, stone, and the carcasses of the beings that called the water home, drying up and rotting in the desert sun. Then, and only then, you will be able to build something new. On top of the echoes of what your mind once was. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>-000-</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The hard part is over, Claudia thinks. Now everyone just gets to wait. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>
    <span>You have so many names that pass by your mind every moment, collapsing as soon as you grab a handhold and steady your thoughts. You are too small to contain them, you think. Too small and yet too spread out. Wearing yourself thin, trying to remember and connect and collect more than you possibly are able to. It is infuriating, because part of you knows you were able to do all of that and more, once upon a time. You were vast, a knowing vessel. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>You admit you may be doing this all wrong. Didn’t you say that your memory was unreliable, once? Your instincts compromised? In a moment of lucidity, you focus inward instead of outward. Your mind may as well scream in fear, with how much it loathes being singular. How much solitude is dangerous. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>It doesn’t matter. In your quest for memory, you reflexively projected out of your vessel despite being too weak to do so. You do the opposite now, feeling bones and skin that feel so alien and yet settle snugly within your mind. A finger twitches, a breath catches. You inhale and exhale, and are grounded by how natural it feels. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>You hear that voice again, distant. Not your own. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>You listen to the voice that is not yours, that is so precious because it does not belong to you, and try to see.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>-000-</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Claudia isn’t quite sure if Nibelheim was always a dangerous place to settle down. Her blissful memories of childhood may have blocked out the constant worries and fear that the adults could have carried, as the mind of a child tends to do. She knows that dragons have always been an issue, even when she was a girl, but that trouble always seemed so far away. What she </span>
  <em>
    <span>does </span>
  </em>
  <span>acknowledge, however, is that the Nibelheim Cloud has grown up in is much more concerning. The mako springs have made sure of it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They started popping up sometime after Tifa’s fall, about four years ago. Pools of raw mako bubbling up to the surface, creating strange otherworldly oases dangerously close to the village. Many of her neighbors suspected the reactor to be at fault, and Claudia was inclined to agree. The thing was old and rarely maintenanced, ever since the old Manor stopped having regular visitors. It wasn’t too far of a stretch to assume that the damn power plant had something to do with it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Regardless of what caused the springs, the village had to undergo a few trials in order to make the surrounding area more habitable. A few good souls fell into the pools and lost their lives before a majority of the townsfolk even acknowledged the danger. A few moved away, and they were lauded as cowards. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was all very silly, in Claudia’s opinion. Nature doesn’t matter if you’re a coward or not, and sometimes running to live another day is better than dying out of stupidity, but she digresses. She stayed, mostly because she didn’t have the funds to move elsewhere. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A few years ago, Cloud fell into a brand new spring just as it started bubbling up. The circumstances of the incident are vague, despite Claudia drilling the boy of </span>
  <em>
    <span>who did this and where am I going to bury the body.</span>
  </em>
  <span> All she knows is that Cloud was in a ditch, the mako started to pool upwards, and that there were two other boys present. He climbed out, unharmed. And that was that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Cloud didn’t get the concern that Lockhart did. No one even considered the possibility that he had been pushed, despite the fact that the other kids have been terrorizing her child ever since Tifa’s fall. If there was ever any theorizing over the situation, the scorn was turned on Claudia. She was never fit to have a child. She can’t keep an eye on the boy long enough to keep him safe. Not that they would ever </span>
  <em>
    <span>want</span>
  </em>
  <span> to keep Cloud safe, no. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Strife is a horrible name to bear when the ones around you hold more conflict than you could ever hold. Sometimes, when she’s at her lowest, Claudia wonders if bringing Cloud into this curse was a mistake. If non-existence was a mercy in comparison to the constant struggles. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Days pass by, uneventful. The Strife house, despite said ‘curse’, has never been a hub for excitement. It has its moments in sharp bursts – a mako incident here, a strange woman with a hole in her chest there – but they never last long. They pass by like growing storms pushed by strong winds, where you can feel the power over your head and perhaps even get struck by a stray lightning bolt every so often, but it always passes by.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Cloud is downstairs when it happens. Sometimes, Claudia wonders if the Strife curse just chooses to be completely abysmal to him and him alone. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>-000-</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>You open your eye and see a child. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Not your child, no. Just a child. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Children as a concept is one you are vaguely familiar with, after all, except they’ve all been </span>
  </em>
  <span>your</span>
  <em>
    <span> children. Seeing one belong to something else is strange. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>You cannot claim this child. You’re fairly sure you wouldn’t want to claim it in the first place. It is small and soft, unfit for fighting or protection. Still, you wonder. Why was it claimed? What potential did something else see in it that you do not? </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>It freezes when it sees you looking. Cautious. Good reflexes. Moderate awareness of surroundings. Nothing unique or special, though. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Jenova?” It says, wary. You recognize the language. You can mimic it, if you so desire. “Are you… awake?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Strange. The child smells of worry. Determination. Fear. You move to rise from your prone position, and the fear spikes as the child opens its mouth and screams–</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>-000-</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“MA!”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Cloud’s shout comes from downstairs, and a million thoughts go through Claudia’s brain in the span of a single second. </span>
  <em>
    <span>PanicfearworrystressconfusedSON–</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“MA! COME DOWN!”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh Shiva– </span>
  <em>
    <span>COMING!”</span>
  </em>
  <span> She scrambles to her feet and nearly falls down the stairs in her haste to clamber down them as fast as possible. “Coming, coming, what–”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When she finally looks up, her eyes go wide. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jenova is standing in the center of the room where she was lying previously, her eye flitting around with a focused stare as if drinking in every detail. She’s shaking from the exertion of standing – no doubt her muscles must have deteriorated from being in a coma for Gods know how long – but she’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>standing</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Even with the weight of those strange growths on her back. She’s still wrapped in the sheets Claudia changed a few hours ago.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Cloud is at the bottom of the stairs, not taking his eyes off the woman. “Jenova’s awake.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>-000-</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Mother. It called for its Mother.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Mot</span>
  </em>
  <b>
    <em>her–</em>
  </b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>-000-</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Mo-ther,” Jenova says, voice scratchy with disuse, and Claudia blanches. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?” </span>
  <em>
    <span>What?</span>
  </em>
  <span> “What did you say?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jenova’s eye stops fluttering about and gives her a blank look. “... mo-ther?” She seems unsure, and looks to Cloud. “Child.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Claudia is flabbergasted. “Yeah?” Jenova’s gaze quickly returns to her, and she suppresses a shiver. Anxiously pushing her hair back dissipates the nerves a bit. “Okay. Let’s… sit down. You look like you’re about to fall over. Come on.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Claudia slowly makes her way to Jenova, who’s carefully tracking her with that one scarlet eye. It really is surreal, finally seeing the woman upright after all this time. Jenova lets her slowly take her hand, guiding her to the couch and sitting beside her, minding the growths in her back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mother,” the woman says, smoother than before. “Mother.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not your mother, no,” Claudia assures, really hoping that this isn’t a chocobo-imprinting situation. “Do you know who you are? Where you’re from?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jenova narrows her eyes. “Do you…” She stops, looking down with her brow furrowed, and Claudia is blown away. Just seeing emotion on Jenova’s face gives her a sense of wonder. A few days ago, she was on the floor with half her brain carved out. “Do I know who…” She huffs, and points at Claudia’s chest. “You are Mother.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I am a mother, yes. Not yours, though,” she says. Jenova gives her a dry look, like </span>
  <em>
    <span>of course I know that,</span>
  </em>
  <span> and she has to shake off the amazement of seeing emotion on the other’s face before she manages to feel a little insulted. “Do you have a name?” She tries.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Give her a second, ma,” Cloud says, still stationed at the staircase. “She just woke up from a coma.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And, well, point taken, but Jenova’s eye goes wide, glancing towards Cloud and pointing to Claudia again. “Ma.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh.” Maybe this </span>
  <em>
    <span>is</span>
  </em>
  <span> a chocobo imprinting situation. “I’m Cloud’s ma, yes?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ma.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My name is Claudia, not Ma.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ma is not a name.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course it isn’t a–” It takes a moment for the realization that Jenova just said a full sentence on her own to settle, but once it does, “Can you speak? Do you understand me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jenova looks hesitant, working her jaw before speaking. “I understand you, yes.” The words are slightly choppy, and it reminds Claudia of her own linguistic transition from Nibel to common when she was a girl. “I understand. I can speak… what you say?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So, a faulty understanding of common then. Claudia knows from experience that listening to language is easier than speaking it, so, “I’m Claudia Strife. The boy over there is my son, Cloud. We found you outside during a blizzard. You were extremely injured, so we brought you inside and did our best to heal you.” No need to mention the possible brain damage just yet – she seems to be doing fine so far. “Your injuries healed very fast, but you weren’t able to wake up completely for about a month.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jenova nods along. She looks… nice, like this. Certainly not healthy, not with the pallor of her skin and the way it sinks onto her bones, but she’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>alive</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Her hair is a choppy mess, a few inches in length where her brain was originally exposed, patchy where the headgear once was, and long everywhere else. Her eye glints and… </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Claudia just feels a weight lift. “Do you have a name?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Name,” Jenova whispers, before shaking her head. Her hair sways with the movement. “I do not have…” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’ve been calling you Jenova,” Cloud says cautiously, still at the stairs. “It was carved onto something on you when we found you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>The plaque</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Oh, Gods. They might actually find out where this woman came from. Claudia isn’t sure she wants to know now, even after all that work.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jenova.” The woman seems to ponder it, feeling it in her mouth. “Jenova.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is it yours?” Clauda asks, softly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Je-no-va.” A pause. “It is mine now. Jenova.” She nods. “My name is Jenova. I am with a Mother and her Child. They helped me when I was injured, and do not wish me harm.” Her words are slow, but clear, a grocery list of things she knows. Her common is smoother than before – maybe Cloud was right in that she needed a moment to calibrate. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She looks down at the sheets wrapped around her torso. “What is…?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Claudia jumps at the question. “Ah, let’s get you all situated, yeah? We can talk while we get clothes. Here, just hold on to my shoulder and…”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>-000-</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Once she starts talking, Jenova is… different than what Claudia expected, and yet exactly what she imagined. She struggles with different ideas and actions, and yet holds an immense amount of wisdom that only elders tend to own. A sort of detached-from-society way of looking at things. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I have been asleep, then.” Jenova looks absent when she says this, like she’s not surprised. “That cannot be right…” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, believe me,” Claudia assures, going through her wardrobe for something old she can cut the back off. The woman is a bit smaller than her, but Claudia’s body-type tends to fluctuate with the seasons, so they’re all adjustable to a degree. “You did wake up every so often, whispering about being ‘too small’ and whatnot, but it was all very feverish.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A pause. “I do not feel too small,” she mutters, almost confused. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Could have been a dream.” Claudia pulls out an old grey dress with a button-back, setting it to the side with a white pinafore. “You don’t remember what you said or why, then?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I remember… frustration,” she offers blankly. “I remember struggling to remember, and being angry because of it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Anything from…” Claudia hesitates. “Before? Where you came from? Where the headpiece came from?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nothing.” Then she stops, considering. “One thing.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Children.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>That’s… Claudia isn’t exactly surprised, but it still takes her off guard. “Did you… have any?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No. Yes. It’s… all very vague, you understand. Just that it was important to me, somehow. Being a mother was important.” She looks at the dress. “How do I…?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That old spark of murderous intent towards ShinRa makes a comeback, but is put on the backburner in favor of holding the piece of clothing up. “Here. Take off that sheet and I’ll help you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It takes a moment for her to wrestle out of the mako-stained sheets, since they stayed wrapped around her for the whole trip upstairs, but she eventually manages and steps into the dress as Claudia holds it open. It fits awkwardly around the back growths, but soon after that they slip the pinafore on as well. It’s a very matchy color palette, with the blue, silver, and grey. Claudia halfheartedly wonders if black would look better. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Does the eye on your boob hurt you?” Claudia asks bluntly once she buttons around the wings. Not her most eloquent moment, but Jenova still considers it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I cannot see through it,” she settles with, and, well, there’s one mystery solved. Then, “Why did you claim your child?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That takes Claudia off guard, and it’s difficult to bury the instinctual feeling of anger under the knowledge that Jenova probably doesn’t mean any harm by it. “Excuse me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It is…” Her shoulders turn tense. “You are angry. I am only curious.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Claudia must have been more transparent than she thought. She forces herself to maybe calm the hell down. “Well, I’ve gotten that question from less </span>
  <em>
    <span>curious</span>
  </em>
  <span> people, so I’m sorry if I seem defensive.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It is only natural,” Jenova says distantly. “To be defensive. As a Mother. Others have asked?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She sighs. “I’m not very well liked. Cloud’s father left before he came about, you see, and we’re not super wealthy either.” And then Tifa’s fall brought the rest of the town’s intentions to light. Brian Lockhart was an ignorant, stupid man. “Cloud had an accident, a few years ago. These mako springs started popping up around the outskirts of town, and he fell into one. He came out unharmed, but was… different. A bit more quiet. Everyone said I was just unfit for taking care of children, asking me why I had him if I couldn’t handle it, but I knew they were just thinking of more excuses to hate us.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You are both outcasts,” Jenova hums. “You claim him because no one else will.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s more than that,” she insists. “He’s mine, and I know no one will take care of him better than I can.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s a lull in conversation, after that, Claudia just unnecessarily smoothing down Jenova’s dress in silence as the other woman ponders her words. It’s been a long while since she’s gotten heated about that topic – it leaves a sour taste in her mouth, </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jenova turns around, locking onto Claudia with that one red eye, almost pinning her in place with her gaze alone. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sentimentality makes your connection stronger,” she says, simply. An obvious conclusion. She considers Claudia, making her feel like a bug pinned to a board. “Your bond is what gives you an advantage. That is what I have learned, as a Mother. At least, it </span>
  <em>
    <span>feels</span>
  </em>
  <span> like that is what I have learned.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s that detached clarity again. Claudia can only nod her thanks, speechless. It’s strange… Jenova makes ‘Mother’ sound like something else entirely. Something a bit more important. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jenova looks down at her new clothing then, pinching at the fabric, and Claudia feels another weight lift. </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I'd like to thank the ff7 wiki for having a complete timeline of events because otherwise this would have gotten very ugly very fast.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I've been changing around some of the tags as I get a better understanding of where this story is gonna go. Apologies if there's been any confusion!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“I don’t need to,” Jenova says that night, while Claudia readies a third place setting on the table. Cloud is already eating. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Claudia pauses for a moment, before very purposefully looking at the other woman’s dangerously thin waist. “Yes you do?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I have never needed to,” she mutters, almost frustrated. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Claudia has the feeling that these random jolts of fury towards ShinRa are going to become very commonplace in Jenova’s company. Maybe throwing a rock through one of the higher windows of the old manor will expel some of that energy? “And look what good that did you, dear,” she says, gesturing to the other woman’s torso. “All creatures on the planet have to eat. You’re no exception.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jenova actually narrows her eye, as if she’s weighing the pros and cons of </span>
  <em>
    <span>eating and staying alive</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Odin’s fucking beard. “I did not need to while asleep.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You weren’t moving around while asleep,” Cloud chips in from his place at the table, fiddling with his spoon. “Food gives you energy, right? And energy runs out the more you use it.” He frowns. “You collapsed in the blizzard. You probably didn’t eat before then, either. Right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s slight consideration on Jenova’s face now. Claudia nods in agreement and piles a serving of soup in the other woman’s bowl. “He’s right.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jenova grumbles something under her breath, finally taking a seat and picking up a spoon. Claudia catches her glance quickly at Cloud, who’s fully immersed in his dinner, then twirls her utensil around for a moment. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Does… she know how to use a spoon?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Well, if she didn’t before, she takes to it like a pro now, finally dipping it into the broth and bringing it to her lips. Claudia gives herself a serving as Cloud helps himself to seconds. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s been a while since there’s been three chairs at dinner. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Any news from town?” Claudia asks Cloud.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mrs. Grave asked about you,” he says, looking into his bowl. “I think everyone’s trying to find out why you haven’t been around, and she’s the only one willing to ask me directly.” He smiles a little. “Not that I’ve been giving anyone a clear answer.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Atta boy. “Hopefully we have a bit more time before people come knocking on the door.” Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Jenova listening intently. “Anything else?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Cloud frowns. “No.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Claudia quirks an eyebrow. Cloud has never been good at lying, especially not to her. “Are you sure?” She can’t see any bruises, and the other kids stopped coming close to him after the incident, nevermind getting close enough to push him around… </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah. Can I be excused?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jenova’s eye shoots back and forth between them during the transaction, wary. Claudia sighs, and lets it go. Cloud </span>
  <em>
    <span>knows</span>
  </em>
  <span> he isn’t good at lying, so it probably means he has no other choice but to. “Yeah, go.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He picks up his bowl and scoots out of his chair, setting his dish in the sink and bolting up the stairs. Not for the first time and certainly not for the last, she wonders what goes through that boy’s head. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He was lying.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Claudia glances at Jenova, who is staring at where Cloud disappeared, and sighs. “If it was important, he would have told me.” The other woman only hums, turning back to her food with a grimace. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jenova stops eating after half the contents of the bowl are gone. No matter – she hasn’t eaten in a long time, and it’ll probably take a while for her to be eating healthy portions. Claudia takes her dish to the sink along with her own. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’ve been sleeping on the floor, all this time,” she says, turning the water on. “You can move to the couch. It’s old, but comfortable. We don’t have another bed.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You do not mind if I stay?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not at all,” she says without hesitating, and then pauses. “And it would be cruel of me to nurse you back to health only to throw you to the wolves a second later.” The wolves being the rest of the village. She can only imagine what their reactions would be to Jenova alone, much less her implied heavy relation to ShinRa. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And… It’s been a long time, since Claudia could talk to someone unhindered by status. She actually feels like an equal, with the other woman. Of course, she’s not sure what ‘feeling equal’ to a strange, mutated, amnesiac woman means for her state of mind, but it sure beats tiptoeing on eggshell conversations and ignoring the blatant insults thrown her way. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jenova brushes her fingertips across a groove in the table, brows furrowed. “I see.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>-000-</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>You watch the antics of the Mother with a strange sense of distance. Claudia and Cloud, she had said. You’re not one to talk about names, originally not having one of your own, but they’re awfully similar. It takes you a few tries to straighten them out in your mind. Claudia, Mother. Cloud, Child. The former leads you back to the place where you are to sleep. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Her words are light, filled to the brim with life and expectation even as she explains how to use a bathroom or how to remove clothes without ripping the fabric. She talks and talks and talks, and you can only listen in fascination. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Her voice is so unlike your own. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>You particularly relish the moments where her speech stays soft, and yet holds an underlying heat that almost doesn’t match the speaker, and yet slots into place so effortlessly. It occurs when you ask particular questions, perhaps where the answer should be obvious. What the tool used to eat was called, how to operate the basin in the bathroom. The exact specifics require more testing, but for now, you just listen. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>(Anger, you realize later. Anger that’s not directed towards you, but towards something else.)</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Claudia gives you paper with writing, asks if you know how to read. She measures the extent of your skills. Every day is a new challenge – you find out you can parse out written language, but cannot write it yourself, you can pick up skills very easily through observation, you can carry a perfect pitch, apparently. You’re not sure why that’s important, but Claudia looks particularly excited by it. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>When you ask, she just shrugs and tells you that there’s only one piano in town, and she’s certainly not allowed to use it. Having you here is like having an instrument of her own. Her body expresses a joking indifference, but her words betray her emotion. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>The Son, Cloud, is different. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>He’s quiet, speaking only when necessary. It’s difficult to parse out his meanings and taste his words. A part of you envies Claudia’s ability to understand him so thoroughly. He carries a faint salty-sweet smell about him, one that you have parsed out as mako, most likely related to the incident his Mother mentioned. You don’t know much about the substance, only that it’s plentiful in the area and submerging oneself is dangerous. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>You fill out a bit more. Your skin stays blue, but it smooths out. The growths on your back stay, harmless and ultimately unnecessary, but you learn to operate around them. You have nightmares that you rarely remember. Claudia cuts your uneven hair into something more uniform, joking about hair spikes and chocobos as she does so.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>You learn to live.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>-000-</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Patty Grave visits the Strife residence, unexpected, in the middle of the day. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>This is a bad thing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Claudia was relying on the assumption that her lack of presence would be hardly noticed, though, now that she thinks about it, the storm </span>
  <em>
    <span>had</span>
  </em>
  <span> been a little less than two months ago, and she rarely left the house since for worry of Jenova falling dead when she wasn’t present. Cloud has been doing most of the work in town, spreading rumors and getting supplies, the darling. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It is certainly nice of them to check that she isn’t dead (these villagers spend the bare minimum of decency on the Strifes, in her experience), but now she’s wishing her grace period lasted a bit longer. At least enough time to go over a cover story for Jenova. Or at least hide her under a sheet and tell her to stay put. It’s too late for that now, though. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Patty wrinkles her nose as Claudia opens the front door just enough to hide the interior of the house, but not enough to be suspicious (Jenova is on the couch puzzling out an old newspaper, hopefully out of sight). The mako smell hasn’t died down since the first day she found Jenova, but she got used to it. Patty doesn’t have that luxury. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Gods, Strife,” Patty blurts, face scrunched up. “When everyone was spouting that dragonscat about a mako spring drowning your house, I didn’t know it was true!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Thinking on her feet, Claudia twists her face into a shy smile. “Not quite a spring, but I’m afraid it might be close.” She knew Cloud was dropping false hints of a mako-related incident, but she’s not sure how much the story has been warped by the rumor mill. “Do you need something, Grave?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Claudia has known Patricia Grave since she was a girl, before the heavy intricacies of cross-family drama interrupted playdates with phrases such as </span>
  <em>
    <span>‘don’t play with that Strife girl anymore.’</span>
  </em>
  <span> Prior to that, they would bond over the similarity of their last names’ natures. Patty was a nice girl, appearing airheaded but holding impressive empathy. She reminded Claudia of those business women you’d see in Midgar – hoping you’ll underestimate them in some way so she can swipe the rug out from under you. In Patty’s case, ‘swiping the rug’ meant ‘becoming your friend’.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Grave was the only one willing to befriend the Strifes to the extent that she had. Claudia guesses that is why she’s here today, instead of anyone else. Classic Nibelheim politics. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Patty frowns. “You haven’t been seen at all in the past month and more. Why do you think I’m here?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Checking up on me, I’m guessing.” Claudia leans against the doorframe. “And it’s awfully kind of you, but Cloud’s been out for me. He’d get help if I was in trouble, yes?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s less about mortal peril around you, Claudia,” the other woman sighs, like this is a recurring argument. “And more about the fact that you’re all cooped up. When’s the last time you’ve talked to someone other than your son?”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Half an hour ago with a woman who has blue skin, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Claudia thinks to herself almost hysterically, smile turning tight. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Whose company is leagues better than any of the other villagers’, if I’m being honest.</span>
  </em>
  <span> “I’ve come to believe not many people would like to talk to me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, </span>
  <em>
    <span>I</span>
  </em>
  <span> do,” Grave says, puffing up. “Can I come in? Whatever mako business you have going on must not be too bad, if you and your son are still living here. </span>
  <em>
    <span>And</span>
  </em>
  <span> you can tell me all about it.” She steps forward, pressing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Claudia steps forward without thinking, blocking her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh,” she says after a moment at Patty’s wide eyes. “It’s. Not exactly…” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fit for company.” Patty finishes for her, eyes searching. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Shit</span>
  </em>
  <span>. “I understand.” </span>
  <em>
    <span>She doesn’t</span>
  </em>
  <span>. “I… extend an invitation to my place, then. If you’re so worried about appearances.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In other words, she probably thinks she’s doing drugs or something. She may have miscalculated. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Although, Strife…” Patty shakes her head, only to manage a smile without tension tightening the edges. “We’ve known each other for so long. You shouldn’t worry about appearances with me, yes? Just as I don’t worry about it with you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Patty is a nice lady, in the end. Faintly, Claudia remembers running around with a younger version of this woman, and feels herself smiling as well. “The others’ comments might have gotten to me.” She admits, slightly guilty. “Thank you, Patty.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Any time, Deedee. Let me know when you want to come over.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Claudia closes the door and leans her back against it, closing her eyes. Gods, interacting with the villagers is always exhausting </span>
  <em>
    <span>without</span>
  </em>
  <span> lying through her teeth. Catching up with Grave sounds… attractive, though. No mention of Jenova. Just, chatting. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She opens her eyes, and blinks as a single red eye stares into her own. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Who was that?” Jenova asks, the same soothing monotone she’s used to, save for the little inflection at the end that marks a question.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Patty Graves,” Claudia answers, realizing that Patty was probably the third person Jenova has seen since waking up. She distantly wonders if Jenova needs to be socialized. “Can you step back for a moment? I need to stand.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The woman relents, although her eye follows her as Claudia steps around to the kitchen. “She did not seem… legitimate.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Really?” Claudia hums absently. “How so?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She reeked.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That pulls a giggle out of her as she starts absentmindedly tidying the kitchen. How blunt! “And that affects her… legitimacy?” She didn’t even notice if Patty smelled or not, with how much the mako overpowered everything, but it seems somewhat out of left field. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes,” Jenova insists, surprisingly intent. “I’ve been able to parse out intentions from you and your son, but she was more…” She struggles to think of a word. “Insipid.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Claudia blinks. “You’ll have to be a bit more clear than that. Insipid?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tasteless. Powdery chalk. Empty. Usually words are more palatable with meaning, but hers were not.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Those are some… interesting word choices Jenova is using. Claudia turns to face the other woman directly with a quirked eyebrow. “Are you telling me you can taste words?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That seems to give Jenova pause, visibly working her jaw as she puzzles over the question. “Maybe.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maybe? It seems pretty straightforward to me.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The other woman frowns. "Smell might be more accurate."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Claudia thinks about that for about three seconds before blurting “You think my words smell good?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s… hard to describe,” She grates out, obviously struggling. “With the voids in my mind. If I could remember, I’d have the full capacity to explain.” </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Huh.</span>
  </em>
  <span> “I don’t know, Jenova.” Claudia says slowly. “I think… remembering might not be such a good idea.” At Jenova’s sharp glare, she backtracks. “I mean, you were out for a month healing before you woke up, and it was for good reason. It wasn’t pretty.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The woman tilts her head slightly. “You think the gaps in my memory are protecting me.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m just saying, whoever did that to you didn’t have anything against experimenting with people.” She hugs her arms, averting her eyes back to the sink. “Aren’t you worried about what you might remember?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s a pause where they can only hear the wood of the house creaking as Jenova searches for words. Claudia waits, patiently. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I have nightmares.” The woman admits, and, well, it was pretty obvious. She’d been whispering in her sleep for the past few nights. “I do not remember them, but…” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Claudia sighs. “It’s probably for the best.” She doesn’t pry, no matter how much she wants to. Though, she does shoot a glance at the other, sizing what she can see of Jenova up. “When you fill out a bit more, drinking might help. Used to put my sister out like a light back in the day.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jenova goes to respond, stops, furrowing her brow, and opens her mouth again. “You want me to poison myself.” Her voice is tinged with confusion. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t be so dramatic. And I’d be poisoning myself with you.”</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter 6</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>A few days later, Claudia goes to visit the Grave residence. She’s… extremely nervous, so much so that Jenova picks up on it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just do not go,” she says from the couch. Sweet Jenova, still somewhat doubtful of the machinations of the Nibelheim townsfolk. “You exude stress. Surely this woman will notice your discomfort.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You can read minds,” she shoots back. “Patty can’t, so she won’t notice.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The other woman wrinkles her nose. It’s kind of adorable, and Claudia takes a second to internally coo. “I cannot read minds. I can sense intentions.” She scoffs. “I do not need to do either to see that you are not looking forward to this meeting. Do not go.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Claudia refuses to respond to that, for the most part. One bit has her thinking, though. “Do you know how that works, by the way?” They had a conversation about it the day after Patty stopped by, about how it feels and how certain words hold weight under certain meanings, like a personal lie detector. “Did you narrow it down?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maybe.” A pause. “It is… strange. I think it originates from my eye.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Claudia blinks, squinting at Jenova’s ruby eye. “Really? I thought you said it was felt in your chest?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jenova gives Claudia a Look. “Not that one.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oh. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Oh.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Claudia darts her gaze towards Jenova’s breast – hidden by her clothing, thank Odin – but quickly looks away. “Well,” Claudia says, flustered. “Eyeballs </span>
  <em>
    <span>are</span>
  </em>
  <span> a… sensory organ, right? That one just…” She struggles to find the words. “Sees intentions?” Yeah, sure.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’ll have to test it later. I do wonder how it operates while covered,” Jenova muses, frowning downwards before sighing. “If you will not take my advice, just leave now and get it over with.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And so Jenova kicks her out of her own house, leaving her to trudge across the plaza through the snow to Patty’s home and knock on the door. Thankfully, no one is out. She isn’t sure how she would hold up under the stares she’s avoided for about two months. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frank Grave opens the door, his pleasant smile of greeting quickly being replaced by surprise, then confusion, then a slow acceptance as soon as he sets his eyes on Claudia. He nods to her, then turns in the doorway. “PATTY! Strife is here!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>All in all, pretty standard affair with villager interactions. “Thanks, Frank.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sure,” is all he offers, disappearing inside and being replaced by a slightly harried Patty, who coos and gives her a quick hug. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The second I smelt mako, I should have suspected,” she says gleefully, to Claudia’s mild horror. “It’s great to see you out and about, dear!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is that all I’m known for now? Mako and being a recluse?” She really hoped she had gotten rid of the odor by now. Maybe her sense of smell had been burnt by the fumes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Patty grimaces. “Maybe, but there’s other matters that people are chatting about, thank Odin. It was getting ridiculous, ferrying all the questions that people had about you, especially since your son is being awfully obscure. Come in, come in! We’ll have to talk all about it!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Claudia is bustled in by an overeager childhood friend into a sizable living room. It’s pretty similar to her own, despite the Strife’s being poor – most of the houses in Nibelheim are roughly the same size, outside a few of the utility buildings. Patty’s furniture, however, shows the disparity between their wealth. Claudia is shooed onto the couch and sinks into the plush cushions, and Patty rushes to the kitchen to prepare tea. No sign of Frank – he must have disappeared upstairs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did you manage to get your hands on the most recent paper?” Patty asks, clinking glasses and kettles as she bustles around. “Ginerva Hiedgel’s son came back from Rocket Town on his trade route, and they do air deliveries to and from Costa del Sol, so their paper is pretty up to date. Not by much, now, but it beats hearing that Kalm was up in flames a year after it actually happened.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Claudia grimaces, remembering hearing about that. It was around the time Cloud fell into the mako spring. “I only have the ones from last month. Nothing as bad as that, I hope?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just the usual Wutai updates.” Patty scrunches up her nose. “Propaganda, more like. Really, ShinRa is so dead-set on putting reactors in new places when they should be focusing on the ones they already have.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Claudia admittedly doesn’t know much about the Wutai war, just the bare necessities that she picked up from overhearing other conversations. “What did it say?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It just lauded the army and spouted shit about Wutai being an evil foreign danger,” Patty says, almost bored. “Like they haven’t stayed out of ShinRa business until the president decided to destroy their homeland.” A pause. “It was either that, or the people of Wutai being pitiful rabble who refuse to accept help from the global superpower out of fear for their strange exotic traditions being destroyed. The ‘poor, ill-educated folk’. I forgot which, they repeat both so often.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That’s the interesting thing about Nibelheim politics, in Claudia’s opinion: an enemy of ShinRa is a friend of theirs. Most of the drama in town is compact and personal, since everyone agrees that the power company is a bumbling toddler with a gun in each hand. Claudia never got involved outside of cursing the ones responsible for the mako springs – she wasn’t very educated in matters outside of her hometown. She thanks Patty for the tea when she sets it on the table in front of her, and the other woman settles into an armchair across the way.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is it true that SOLDIERs are in Rocket Town?” Claudia asks, echoing something she heard a while ago. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Patty hums. “Oh, I’ve heard that one before. I think the army uses the place as a pitstop before deploying. They’re the closest hub to Wutai, after all.” She takes a sip of tea. “It wouldn’t surprise me if someone saw a SOLDIER or two during one of those stops.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Claudia sighs, feeling an old frustration well up again. “You’d think they’d be able to smell the mako from there. Hasn’t anyone reported anything?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Patty barks out a laugh. “I’d put the effort into reporting the things I see if I was sure they wouldn’t mess it up more than they already have.” She smirks, her face turning into something conspiratory as she leans forward. “Did you know that Lockhart reported that dragon pack up near the west mountain range last winter? No word back since. They’re either ignoring us outright, or we’re just not important enough.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jenova’s mutations pop into Claudia’s mind. “They know what happens to people when they’ve been exposed for too long,” she mutters. “There’s no way they can’t. How is it not important?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Patty blinks, leaning back. “Small towns on a different continent, Deedee. We don’t contribute much to Midgar. Wutai, on the other hand.” She clicks her tongue. “Luck of the draw, I suppose. We should be lucky we have electricity.” A pause. “Or, that’s what I would say if I didn’t hate ShinRa’s guts.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Claudia snorts. “We could shut down the reactor, and everyone in town would probably thank us.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Careful, dear,” Patty says sharply, but her eyes betray her mirth. “Don’t want the Turks to come after you for terrorism.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They both burst into laughter, Claudia holding her teacup a bit more securely. Gods, she missed this. Patty brings her back to speed with some of the gossip going around town, what Frank hears from the other boys, how the village kids are holding up. Tifa is becoming a little spitfire, apparently a long time coming – taking after her mother rather than her idiot father, thank goodness. The girl had been going against her father’s wishes as of late. She wonders out loud if Brian Lockhart’s reaction to her fall had anything to do with the gradual change, and Patty’s face takes on a grim look. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She wouldn’t be the only kid to change after a fall, wouldn’t she?” She says, cautiously avoiding Claudia’s now-wary gaze. “How’s Cloud been doing?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He’s healthy,” Claudia says slowly, feeling the room. What she wouldn’t give for Jenova’s intuition right now. “You’ve seen him around town.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But rarely heard.” Patty traces a finger around the rim of her empty teacup. “Answers people’s questions with one-word sentences, comes and goes like a ghost.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He doesn’t trust them, then,” she says bluntly. Why is Patty even asking about this? “You remember how everyone reacted after Tifa’s fall.” There’s hesitation in the other woman’s eyes, and Claudia blinks slowly. “What is this about?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Patty seems to come to a decision, putting the teacup down. “I’m wondering if everything is alright at home, Claudia.” Claudia opens her mouth to speak, but Patty raises a hand. “Just listen, alright? You’ve been holed up in your house for nearly two months. Your son, in that time, had done your errands for you and rarely spoke to anyone outside of something about a mako spring and borrowing random tools. I believe from the Heidgel garage?” She leans forward. “And then I visit your home and find out it </span>
  <em>
    <span>reeks</span>
  </em>
  <span> of mako, and you don’t let me inside. What is going on?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Claudia is admittedly a little impressed at the spontaneous intervention that’s going on here, but it’s not enough to overpower the cold fury that seeps into her bones. “What, you think I’m injecting raw mako into my bloodstream?” She clips. “You think I’m hiding out in my house so people don’t see the eyeshine?” She knows Patty means well, really, but… </span>
</p><p>
  <span>This feels familiar. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s… partially why I’m asking.</span>
  <em>
    <span>”</span>
  </em>
  <span> Patty says gently, frowning. “Because everyone else seems to think so.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Too familiar. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Claudia sets down her own teacup, keeping the trembling in her hand to a minimum. “And this is their business because…?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Patty wouldn’t understand, really. She’s always been on the right side of villager gossip. She doesn’t know how it feels, being a Strife. No matter how similar in nature their names may be. Strife and Grave. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Claudia swallows thickly. “Patricia, I’ve stopped caring a long time ago what other people thought of me.” The other woman goes to respond, but Claudia keeps going. “I don’t owe you any explanation.” She takes a deep breath, bringing her fingers to her temples. “I’m not doing drugs. I’m safe. Cloud is safe.” </span>
  <em>
    <span>Jenova is safe.</span>
  </em>
  <span> “Are you going to take my word for it? Do I need proof?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She feels slightly nauseous. It’s achingly familiar, this situation. The villagers took Lockhart’s word over hers in a heartbeat, after all. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” the other woman says quietly. “No, of course not. Thank you for telling me.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>-000-</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They spend the new year indoors next to the hearth, Cloud explaining holidays and celebrations to an interested Jenova while Claudia sighs under the weight of the blankets. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s always so interesting, seeing Cloud and Jenova interact. Jenova asks a question about something strange, and Cloud explains in excruciating detail like one would explain to a child, which only leads to another question. She’s heard the questions go from kitchen utilities to circus performances (the latter of which the Strifes have never seen, but did their best to explain from books and word of mouth). It’s awfully precious, and she wishes she had one of those fancy cameras to immortalize the image of their heads bowed together, talking very seriously about rabbit pelts. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now that she thinks about it, Cloud took very quickly to Jenova. Quicker than anyone else he’s interacted with, actually. He’d always been a solitary, problem-solving sort, although he lacked the patience to actually do any said-puzzles. She wonders if he sees Jenova as something to define – an unknown in need of a title. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Or he’s just happy to have someone else to talk to. Claudia knows </span>
  <em>
    <span>she</span>
  </em>
  <span> is. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They count out the seconds, hearing the cheers from the neighbors as the clock strikes midnight. She laughs as Jenova startles, immediately asking about clocks in the first moments of January, and Cloud obliging with a few snorts of his own. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It feels right. Like everything is perfect. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She smells mako in the air and dreams of streams bathed in green light. </span>
</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thanks for reading! And also thank u for the beautiful comments. I have no clue how AO3 comments work/how to interact with them but rest assured that I see them and I love you.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Chapter 7</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>It seems that my writing motivation that allowed me to write and post six chapters in the span of ten days has finally died out! Rest assured, I'll try and keep updating, but I don't have a set schedule and the next chapters will most likely have large breaks between. </p><p>Thanks for reading!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Claudia goes out more, in the new year. For all that Patty’s conversation was infuriating, she did have a point that the villagers are starting to notice the strange happenings of the Strife residence. If she fights back too hard, they might force themselves into her home. With Jenova inside, that is the last thing she needs. So, outings. Hooray. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It is windy, today – not enough so that it is uncomfortable to go out, but stray flakes of snow still catch in the breeze and the cold nips at Claudia’s skin. Mild, as far as Nibelheim goes. A few scattered villagers take their places around the plaza, doing daily chores and work. She can see the younger Mr. Heidgel working on his truck, Florence Jarl beating out rugs in front of her home while her husband talks to Mr. Aren and Mr. Ervine in front of the Inn about something she can’t hear. A few children are chatting towards the entrance of the town, most notably Tifa Lockhart and Mara Tiber.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Interestingly enough, Tifa comes bounding towards Claudia once the girl spots her next to the water tower. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hi, Mrs. Strife!” Tifa says, smiling but a bit winded. Claudia blinks, but ultimately smiles in the end. Tifa’s energy has always been contagious. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She’d also be an idiot to accuse a child for being at fault for how the village turned against her family, like </span>
  <em>
    <span>some </span>
  </em>
  <span>people she could name. “Hello, Ms. Lockhart. How are you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tifa grins like she’s been waiting for someone to ask her that all day. “I’m learning how to fight!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oh? “Really?” She can’t keep the surprise out of her voice. This must be part of the girl’s rebellious phase that Patty mentioned. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah!” She mimes a few punches, ending with a high kick pointed away from Claudia that has her impressed. “I’m practicing under Master Zangan!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He has over a hundred students across the world, so Claudia’s been told. There is absolutely no way her father approved of this, she thinks with carefully tampered down glee. “He’s a good teacher, I hope?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes ma’am!” She hops in place a bit, smile turning into something more subdued. “I’ve, uh. Been looking for a sparring partner. Someone who’s not Master Zangan.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Claudia hums, noting the villagers eavesdropping from across the plaza. “You want me to ask Cloud, then?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tifa nods frantically, relieved. “Please! Cloud’s the only one who’s around my size who would be </span>
  <em>
    <span>interested</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and, well, I think my dad may have told people’s parents to tell me no when I asked, and, uh.” She peters off, probably unsure how to say </span>
  <em>
    <span>my dad won’t talk to you,</span>
  </em>
  <span> but Claudia nods before she has the need to. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll let him know,” she says, and watches the girl punch the air in victory. “But if he says no, there’s nothing I can do about it, yeah?” That’s the most likely outcome – Tifa and Cloud’s friendship has always been rocky, if not because of the obvious village disapproval, then the terrible awkwardness that plagues their interactions. That’s never really stopped them from trying, though. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He </span>
  <em>
    <span>won’t</span>
  </em>
  <span> say no!” Tifa says with all the determination in her little heart. She bows slightly. “Thank you so much, Mrs. Strife! Tell him that practice is ten in the morning everyday except weekends!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With that, she runs off, whooping and making all the villagers flinch back in surprise as Claudia looks on. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Huh,” she says to herself.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>-000-</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Cloud thinks about it for maybe thirty seconds when Claudia tells him about Tifa’s request. She lets him think in silence, patiently waiting at his doorframe as he furrows his brows and has an intensive internal struggle. After the thirty seconds he looks up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Claudia isn’t surprised. “Any reason why?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That’s another twenty seconds. “No?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She hums. “You don’t sound so sure.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He frowns, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s complicated?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Claudia sits on the edge of his bed, patting next to her so he scoots over into her side. She lifts an arm and brushes his hair back, watching the blond strands pop back into place as she passes by them. “Explain it to me, then.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He huffs in annoyance. “Do I have to?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’d really appreciate it if you did.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She meets his mild glare until he looks away, scowling. He presses himself into her flank. “She didn’t want to avoid me the first time.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He must mean after Tifa’s fall. “She had a good head on her shoulders.” Even at ten years old. “Is wanting to hang out with you a bad thing?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He scowls, the expression half hidden in her side. “She did avoid me after the second time.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Cloud’s fall. Ah. Hell hath no fury like the grudge of a teenager, Claudia supposes. She can see where he’s coming from, though. “Are you mad at her for not talking to you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” he says instantly, but then his brows furrow. “Maybe? Ugh!” He emerges from her side and throws himself back on the bed in frustration. “I’m sick of this stupid wishy-washy bull–”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Cloud.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s true!” He pouts. “I don’t know what she wants from me! First, she acts all guilty because I get blamed for her injury. Always, just, in the corner of my sight looking sad because whenever she saw me she was reminded of that stupid fall. ‘Oh, Cloud, I wish I could talk to you, but then the </span>
  <em>
    <span>others</span>
  </em>
  <span> will notice.’ Then!” He throws his hands up. “I fall, and she’s suddenly no different from everyone else. For </span>
  <em>
    <span>years.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>His hands flop back onto the bed, as if he suddenly lost the energy to keep them in the air. He’s not even looking at Claudia, venting his frustrations to the ceiling in a way that reminds her of how he used to be, before falling.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And now,” Cloud grumbles. “She wants to hang out again, like nothing ever happened.” The lost quality of his voice breaks Claudia’s heart. “I need her to make a decision and stick with it. It just…” He sighs. “It would be easier if she just stayed away.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Claudia shakes her head, thrown for a moment. “It would be easy for everyone to just not talk to people, Cloud. Making and keeping friends, especially in our shoes, is going to be tough.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Cloud just shrugs. “Not that. I know that.” He blinks, eyes unfocused for a moment. “I… what did I say?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oh dear. “That it would be easier if Tifa wasn’t your friend?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A pause. “Yeah.” He pulls on a stray spike of hair – a nervous habit. “Yeah. It would be easier.” </span>
</p><p><em><span>Strange.</span></em><span> She studies his face, bringing the back of her hand to his forehead. Normal temperature.</span> <span>“Cloud, are you feeling okay?”</span></p><p>
  <span>He hesitates.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Cloud.”</span>
  </em>
  <span> She takes his hand. “If you’re not feeling okay, if you’re sick, you </span>
  <em>
    <span>have</span>
  </em>
  <span> to tell me.” The last thing she needs is some delayed side effect from the mako incident on her hands, but Cloud just frantically shakes his head.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No!” He shakes his head frantically, bolting up. “It’s not like that. It’s–” He pauses. “I feel fine. It’s more like…” His hands gently slip out of her own, settling on his lap. “Can’t I just not go?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, Cloud.” She winds an arm around him, squeezing him to her side. Her son’s never been good at socializing, even before the other kids started avoiding him. “You’re probably nervous because it’s been awhile since you and Tifa talked.” </span>
  <em>
    <span>Or you and anyone else talked.</span>
  </em>
  <span> “This is a good way to… get out there, you know? Have interests that don’t involve me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Right,” he says in that absent way that lets her know that he disagrees with her but doesn’t want to get in an argument right that moment. “Are you gonna make me go?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Claudia sighs. “Nah, stormcloud. Just think about it? You could do with friends your age, and if you don’t like it? You can leave.” She squeezes him one more time before letting go and standing up. “Dinner’s gonna be ready soon.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He looks up from under his bangs. “Alright.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Claudia smiles, tapping the door frame on her way out and heading downstairs. Speaking of dinner… </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jenova is leaning over the cooking pot on the hearth, casting her face in a strange light that makes her jawbones even sharper than they already are. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>-000-</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>You feel comfortable. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>The thought comes to you slowly, through little things that gently bring the tense energy out of your limbs. A touch on the shoulder here, a patient explanation of something strange there. You are welcomed, would even go as far to say you are wanted. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Your memories tell you that you have never been wanted before. That it is natural for others to despise your presence. The Strifes prove yet again that your memory is not to be trusted. Instead, you instinctively lean into Claudia’s touch as she pats your arm, asking if watching the pot is making it cook faster. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>You feel comfortable.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>-000-</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It turns out that regardless of whether or not Jenova’s staring is quickening the stewing time, it’s pretty much done anyway. Claudia heaves the pot off the fire, carefully carrying it to the table without it spilling. Jenova follows closely.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s been a while since you’ve had a bath,” Claudia says conversationally. “Oh, can you get the bowls from the cabinet?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She complies easily with a grace re-learned. At least, Claudia assumes it’s re-learned – it’s strange to consider Jenova as she was when they first found her, comatose and fumbling over words. The smooth way she moves looks natural for her, gliding without even bumping the growths – </span>
  <em>
    <span>wings,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Cloud has been calling them recently, and isn’t that fitting? – on walls or tables. She makes opening the cabinet door look like an art form. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I do not want to be a bother.” She says, dishes clanking. “The bath was nice last time, but ultimately frustrating.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her wings wouldn’t fit in the tub, which they didn’t account for previously. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We know to prepare for spills now,” Claudia says cheerfully. “And it wasn’t a request.” Jenova doesn’t smell </span>
  <em>
    <span>bad</span>
  </em>
  <span>, exactly – she doesn’t do a lot of anything physical to warrant body odor or sweat – but she does carry a faint scent of mako wherever she walks. It’s been getting better, less suffocating, but Claudia recognizes the buildup of mako coming through her pores from when she had to wipe the woman down herself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jenova tilts her head. “I see.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’ll be good for you, anyways,” Claudia continues. “I heard warm water is supposed to do something for your joints. Or was it your emotions?” She heard it from a neighbor a long while ago, before Cloud was able to walk. She shakes her head. “It does something healthy, I’m pretty sure.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hm.” Jenova sets the bowls in their proper places, straightening them like a fancy restaurant in the city. “One would think submerging oneself in water would be a strange practice.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Some of the elders in town when I was a girl talked about swimming in the rivers during summer.” Claudia frowns. “That was before the mako springs started popping up. Swimming sounds nice.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“In theory.” Jenova agrees. She wavers for a moment, rubbing her wrist absently. “I have memories of drowning.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Claudia winces. “Is that why the bath bothers you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It is fine,” she says, a little too quickly. At Claudia’s expression, she backtracks. “I was not drowning in water.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That doesn’t make it any less similar,” Claudia says gently. Cloud wasn’t able to take a bath for weeks after his fall, even though he knew very well it was water he was sitting in. “Maybe the washrag would be better. That way we wouldn’t need to worry about spills and the like, right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jenova tucks a stray strand of hair over her ear, glancing at Claudia out of the corner of her eye. “Perhaps.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Claudia smiles, just as Cloud drags himself down from his room and plants himself on the bottom step, catching her gaze and keeping it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll fight for Tifa.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>For some reason, even as Jenova questions why they are fighting and Cloud rushes to clarify, Claudia thinks the declaration holds way too much weight for agreeing to be a sparring partner. </span>
</p><p> </p>
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